


Come Home to Me and I Will Wait for You

by Sinna



Series: sad gay knights [1]
Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: Asexual Character, M/M, Trans Male Character, probably not really complete but every chapter stands on its own so I'm marking it as such
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-01-19 07:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12406239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinna/pseuds/Sinna
Summary: A series of Mordred/Galahad oneshots that take place in vaguely the same 'verse





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> acemordred on tumblr (The True MVP) keeps prompting me with this ship every time I reblog a prompt meme. I've developed quite a collection, so I figured I'd start crossposting them over here. Some might be cleaned up a little bit.  
> The title is a quote from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.

Mordred jolted upright as a sharp elbow slammed into his side. 

“Sorry, were you sleeping?” a sarcastic voice snapped.

Slowly, Mordred’s eyes took in the… squire?… who seemed so offended by the fact that Mordred had fallen asleep halfway through Mass. There was something oddly familiar about him, which really meant nothing when one considered how interrelated the Knights of King Arthur’s court tended to be. Probably someone’s third cousin or something.

“I was deep in prayer,” Mordred said, the lie easily slipping off his tongue.

While Mordred was particularly proud of his ability to lie convincingly, he didn’t expect this one to actually convince anyone. But to his surprise, the young man simply smiled serenely and nodded. 

“Forgive me for disturbing your prayers. Let me kneel with you for a while in repentance.” 

Mordred looked to his brothers for help, but Agravaine and Gawain – the traitors – were already on their feet.

“We’ll leave you to your prayers, Mordred,” Gawain said, with barely concealed glee. 

“I’m sure you’ll be pleased to pray with someone as devout as yourself,” Agravaine added, just as cheerfully.

Mordred made a mental note to never let them talk him into anything ever again. The mass alone had been insufferable, but leaving him alone with this pious halfwit and no way out? This was just plain cruel.

Of course, he could just up and leave. Theoretically, nothing was stopping him. Nothing except Mordred’s own foolish desire to catch his father’s attention. Not that he thought Arthur would particularly notice this sudden bout of devotion, when he’d never noticed anything else his son did, but making an enemy of a particularly pious squire wouldn’t do him any favors either.

And so he knelt on the cold stone floor, the saintly young man beside him, apparently genuinely absorbed in prayer. 

After fifteen minutes, Mordred was having trouble feeling his feet.

It took him nearly half an hour to realize what should have been obvious all along. The squire had never believed him in the first place. He was toying with Mordred. Waiting to see how long he’d stay before giving up and making some excuse. It was almost impressive. Well, two could play at that game.

Rejuvenated by the challenge of outlasting this knave, Mordred ignored his discomfort. He kept sneaking glances at the young man out of the corner of his eye. At first, he was watching for any sign of impatience. And then, well… He was more attractive than Mordred had thought at first glance. Oddly proportioned, perhaps, but handsome. Girlish, but not in the ways Mordred himself was.

Hours must have passed as they knelt on the cold stone floor, caught in an unspoken battle of wills. Finally, footsteps announced the approach of another. A man, by the sound of his heavy boots.

“Galahad? I thought I might find you here.”

Oh shit. Mordred recognized that voice. In retrospect, the physical similarities should have been obvious.

Lancelot raised an eyebrow as he saw Mordred kneeling beside his son. It must have been quite a sight. Camelot's two most gossiped about bastards, side by side.

“I wouldn’t have expected to see you here however, Mordred.”

Mordred rose to his feet, ignoring his protesting limbs. “Perhaps you haven’t heard, Sir Lancelot. It’s Sir Mordred as of last month. Or do you only listen to court gossip when it’s telling you about how I worship the devil?”

“Listening to idle rumors is unchristian of you, father,” Galahad declared, with just a hint of repressed hatred hiding under his sanctimonious rebuke. 

Mordred was quickly realizing there was more to Galahad than his saintly appearance.

Lancelot pursed his lips. “Yes, well, I’m sorry to drag you from your prayers, both of you, but I have need of you, Galahad.”

“Yes, father.” He turned to Mordred. “I hope to see more of you, Sir Mordred.”

“As do I.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: A taunt, with one eyebrow raised and a grin bubbling at your lips

Galahad had been trying to find Mordred for almost an hour, ever since Arthur’s bastard had stormed out of the great hall after one too many thinly veiled insults. He was starting to think it was hopeless, when a thought occurred to him.

Sure enough, he found Mordred in the stables, braiding his black stallion’s mane into hundreds of tiny braids. His hands moved in a quick and steady rhythm as he manipulated the horse’s coarse hair. Galahad leaned against the opposite wall.

“So braiding your horse’s hair was so important that you had to walk out while Sir Bors was talking?” 

“Did your father send you after me?” Mordred asked darkly.

“Actually, your father did,” Galahad told him.

Mordred’s hands faltered.

“Officially, no one knows who my father is,” he said.

“And unofficially everyone knows it’s the king,” Galahad pointed out. “Which was why you left, right?”

“Do you blame me?” Mordred asked, crossing his arms defensively.

“I’m just impressed you stayed so long,” Galahad admitted.

Mordred clearly hadn’t expected that. Any reply he’d been formulating died on his lips as he stared.

“You’re not the only bastard,” Galahad said coldly.

“That’s not the only reason they hate me and you know it. Or…” Mordred paused for a moment. “Have you not heard?”

“What, that you’re allergic to apples?” Galahad asked smoothly.

He knew exactly what Mordred was talking about. There were whispers everywhere that Mordred was a witch like his mother, a girl disguised as a boy to steal Arthur’s throne. Galahad didn’t believe a word of them. He’d seen the way the rest of the Orkney clan clustered around their brother protectively when the whispers got too loud. Mordred may have been born a girl, but he wasn’t one anymore.

Mordred’s eyes widened in surprise at Galahad’s casual reply.

“Something like that,” he said.

“I don’t listen to rumors,” Galahad told him. “I prefer to judge a knight by his actions, not his reputation.”

“Then you’re smarter than most of the Round Table.”

“Is that a difficult feat?” Galahad asked dryly.

Mordred raised an eyebrow. “Some might say so.”

He looked halfway to amusement. Galahad resolved that one day he would make this serious young man laugh.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I love you the way a knife loves a heart the way a bomb loves a crowd the way your mother warned you about, essentially. (the way a human loves another human) (A Softer World)

Galahad is off on another quest. Or maybe it’s the same one. They’re all the same, really. Galahad is seeking the Grail, and it’s his destiny to find it. Every time he leaves Camelot, Mordred can’t help but consider the fact that he might never see him again. It’s infuriating.

The rest of the knights always go on and on about the Grail as if it’s some nice cup they can stick in their saddlebags and bring home to Camelot to show off to their friends. Mordred knows better.

The Grail is powerful. Mordred knows that such power comes with a price. Magic or religion, it doesn’t matter. There’s always a price. Christ may have redeemed the world, or whatever, but he still had to  _die_.

Mordred hates the thought of Galahad becoming a martyr. Or a saint. Although really what’s the difference? He’ll still be dead. He thinks Galahad wouldn’t be afraid of death, that he’d walk right into it with a smile if it was for his great cause. Mordred hates him for that.

He hates Galahad for a lot of things though.

Galahad the Pure.

Sometimes he wonders what it would take to tarnish that purity. If it could even be done. …If it has already been done.

Mordred thinks back to a late-night meeting, last winter. Fate or coincidence, who could say, but bad dreams had disturbed them both. Galahad, deciding to banish his nightmares with a midnight ride, had found Mordred tucked away in the stables. Somehow arguing had led to talking, and talking had led to something more. Mordred can still feel the ghost of Galahad’s lips upon his own, even all these months later.

They haven’t spoken so much as a word since.

Mordred wonders if one kiss is enough to damn a man. If he has become Galahad’s Judas. It’s an appealing prospect. Maybe he has ended both their cursed destinies in one blow. Taken Galahad’s purity, used up all his betrayal on the man. A betrayal that brings life rather than death.

He wonders which makes him more broken, the fact that he wants to kiss Galahad, or the fact that he doesn’t want to take him to bed.

He wonders if that’s something he could explain, or Galahad could accept. If he even comes back this time.

More importantly, he wonders if Galahad would even want to kiss him again. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: An abandoned or empty place.

No one had been down to the caves in ages. After Merlin’s… disappearance - as they’re all tactfully calling it - Vivien set up her own quarters in the southern wing of the castle. Neat, above the ground, and far more approachable. A ruse, as far as Mordred was concerned. She could dress it up as nicely as she wanted, but she was no different from the wizard she’d replaced. 

Mordred found himself wishing for Morgan beside him. His aunt’s magic wasn’t any different, but she never sought to hide the ugly bits behind pretty shows. Mordred preferred the cruel honesty to gentle lies. 

Gentle lies, like the way Arthur was always too-courteous to his bastard son, as if no one knew that he’d once tried to kill Mordred.

To be honest, that was why Mordred was down here. He needed some sort of answers. Arthur had always claimed that Merlin alone was responsible for the May children, and Mordred had never had the courage to ask the sorcerer himself while he was alive. Assuming he could have even gotten Merlin to tell him the truth.

”What are you doing down here?”

Mordred jumped at the sound of another voice and turned quickly to face Sir Galahad.

“I think the better question is what you’re doing down here,” Mordred drawled, praying that his shaking voice wouldn’t give him away.

“I followed you,” Galahad told him. “I’ve been worried about you. Is that a crime?”

“Ask the king,” Mordred snapped. “For all I know it might be.”

Galahad laid a hand on his shoulder, and Mordred struggled not to melt into his touch.

“What happened while I was gone?” Galahad asked softly.

“I grew up,” Mordred snapped. “Maybe you should do the same.”

“You know I can’t.”

Mordred finally snapped, crumpling to the floor. Tears pricked at the edges of his eyes, and for once Mordred couldn’t blink them away.

Galahad was dead. 

Oh, the official story went that he’d found the Holy Grail and ascended to heaven, but Mordred knew that was a fairy tale. A pretty lie meant to soften Lancelot’s guilt. It did nothing for Mordred’s grief. Even if it was true, it still meant that Galahad was forever out of reach, except for the moments when his mind took pity on him, creating illusions that he could almost pretend were real.

When Mordred finally looked up, the hallucination was gone.

 


	5. Interlude - Gawain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mordred and Gawain "I thought we were family!"
> 
> Not technically Mordred/Galahad but it features Mordred and fits in the same 'verse so I figured I'd put it here

“Mordred, don’t do this.“

The young knight paced restlessly.

“I have to!“

Gawain grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to a halt.

“It’s already an open secret, Mordred. Putting it out in public will do more harm than good.“

“He’s a hypocrite, Gawain! Don’t you care about that? Everyone has to follow the laws, except his precious-“

“Marriage and love complicate things, Mordred,“ Gawain interjected.

But Mordred wasn’t listening. His ranting took on a new pitch that tasted of old bitterness.

“He claims to protect innocents, but has forty children murdered because he’s too scared of what one  _might_  do.“

“Is that what this is about?“ Gawain asked gently. “Your own personal grudge?“

“No! This isn’t about me! This is about him thinking that because he’s the king he’s above the laws! How long will you stand for this?!”

“Mordred. I won’t help you.“

“Then I’ll do it on my own.“


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiss prompt

The stables were quiet at night. There would always be the soft sounds of horses stamping their feet and the occasional squeal as the cats found another rat, but without the clamor of squires and stablehands and the clanking of armor, those sounds seemed peaceful.

Mordred began slicing the apple he’d brought for his stallion into manageable bites with his dagger. The horse’s soft lips nuzzled his hand as he searched out the sweet morsels, and Mordred found himself smiling.

“So is that what it takes to get you to smile?”

Mordred jumped at the voice, nearly dropping his dagger.

“Sir Galahad? I didn’t hear you come in.”

The building was large, and his stallion wasn’t stabled near the entrance. He should have heard the knight’s footsteps.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” Galahad stepped out of the shadows. “I figured you’d come here after what happened today.”

Mordred winced at the reminder.

“What do you want?” he asked curtly.

Galahad hesitated. “My father had no right to-”

“He didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” Mordred interjected.

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“Shut up,” Mordred snapped.

Galahad raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

“What did you come here for?”

Galahad hesitated. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Mordred lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve been told I’m extremely irritating.”

Galahad shook his head and stepped closer.

Mordred sighed. “Do you want some?”

“Huh?”

Mordred lifted the apple still in his hand. “Do you want a slice?”

Galahad continued to stare at him in silent shock. Taking that as an affirmative, Mordred sliced a piece of the apple and lifted it towards Galahad’s lips.

He meant it as a mockery – treating Galahad as he’d treat his horse. He’d hoped it might banish whatever odd mood the young knight was in.

He realized his miscalculation when Galahad’s lips brushed his fingertips.

_ Oh. _

Their eyes met for a moment, before Galahad turned abruptly away.

“Wait.” Mordred could not stop the word from escaping his lips.

Galahad turned back, and Mordred acted on instinct, pulling him close and pressing their lips together.

After a moment, Galahad kissed back, hands coming up to grip Mordred’s too-thin waist. Mordred’s fingers made their way to Galahad’s sandy blond hair. It wasn’t as soft as he’d imagined, but there was something reassuring in the texture of it, undeniably real under his fingertips. He tugged at strands of it, experimenting with the way Galahad moaned against his lips.

He almost didn’t notice Galahad’s hands dipping lower.

He did notice when Galahad’s fingers slipped under his shirt and came in contact with his bare back. Abruptly, Mordred gasped and pulled away, suddenly hyperaware of the bandages just inches from discovery. Galahad stared in confusion.

“Mordred?”

Mordred shook his head, his usually quick tongue feeling like a lead weight in his mouth. The apple dropped from his hand, landing with a soft thump on the ground.

Without a word, he turned and ran.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loved by a god

Mordred sometimes thinks of the stories his mother told him as a child. The stories of mortals loved by the gods. Things never ended well for the mortals. To be loved by a god was to die young. To lose all free will, your own life buried in the will of something more than yourself. He thinks she meant to teach him humility and thankfulness for his humble life. Instead, she taught him that gods are jealous creatures.

He remembers the stories Morgause – his real mother – told him as a young man. She loved the tale of Lucifer, God’s most beloved angel, who was punished most severely for his refusal to sit idly by under a tyranny. Perhaps she imagined herself Lucifer’s bride, a second fallen angel. Mordred always it was horribly ambitious of her. She certainly had the rebellious spirit, but he never saw any evidence that God cared about her existence more than that of any other human crawling about the earth. If He did, Mordred thinks he wouldn’t exist.

He’s a knight full grown when he hears it; “God loves Sir Galahad.”

The serving-girl who whispers it is merely repeating gossip, but Mordred knows it’s no lie or exaggeration. It’s simply a fact.

Sir Galahad, the golden bastard who excels at every part of knighthood without even trying. Who sits in the Siege Perilous as if completely unaware of the chair’s deadly history. Whose success at finding the Holy Grail has been foretold since before his birth.

Mordred pities him. It’s his first mistake. Pity, they say, is the first step to love.

The stories all taught him the dangers of being loved by a god. Nothing prepared him for the pain of loving someone loved by a god. Of knowing that he can’t compete with Galahad’s glorious destiny, or his own cursed fate. Still, he can’t resist trying. Gods are jealous creatures, but so is Mordred.

He crawls into Galahad’s lap and kisses him, keenly aware of the Seige Perilous. Galahad is gripping its arms with more force than necessary. He protests with gentle fears for Mordred’s life, but Mordred has never feared the chair. His fate wouldn’t be so easily escaped.

“I love you,” he whispers against Galahad’s lips, as if it means anything in the grand scheme of things.

Galahad’s hands come up to cup his face. They’re rough and warm and achingly gentle and Mordred can’t resist his eyelids flickering shut for a moment.

“You’re thinking about something,” Galahad observes.

“I usually am,” Mordred counters.

“Tell me?”

“You don’t want to hear it.”

Mordred tries to lean in again, to distract Galahad with his mouth, but Galahad’s hands hold him firmly in place.

“I was thinking about your curse,” Mordred begins quietly.

“My curse?”

Mordred cards gentle fingers through Galahad’s rough hair.

“A god’s love is its own curse, don’t you think?”

Galahad frowns. It’s not the frown Mordred is used to seeing from him. That frown is bitter and angry. This frown is contemplative and hesitant.

“You have the luxury of being heretical, I suppose.”

“There’s nothing stopping you from being the same,” Mordred insists. “Our meetings are already heretical enough, aren’t they?”

And there’s the frown Mordred is so familiar with.

“Is that all you think of this?” Galahad asks.

“Is there anything else to think of this?”

“I thought-” Galahad begins.

“What? That our love was somehow pure and sanctified because nothing you do is not?”

Mordred is surprised to find himself sprawled on his back on the floor. It takes a moment to realize that Galahad pushed him. The golden knight stands, towering above him with the almost-perceptible glow of a future martyr around him.

Apparently, Mordred hit much closer to the mark than intended.

“You’re not a saint yet,” Mordred cautions. “You’re still human.”

“So that’s why you toy with me?”

“That’s why I love you.”

The words stop Galahad in his tracks.

“What will you do when I find the Holy Grail?” he asks. “When I’m finally free of this destiny you find so abhorrent?”

Mordred looks up at him with sad eyes.

“I’ll mourn you,” he says, “because that isn’t a destiny you survive. And then I’ll fulfill my own destiny and hope there’s no afterlife for me to be tortured in.”

Galahad kneels beside him, face grave.

“I’ll find the Grail, and I’ll come back to you, and with its power I’ll set you free. I promise.”

Mordred’s hands move of their own accord, pulling Galahad close and burying his face in Galahad’s shoulder, hoping to hide the tears pricking at his eyes.

It’s a beautiful dream. It will never happen. But just for a moment, Mordred lets himself hope.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angsty Soulmates Prompt: "So you're the unfortunate soul stuck with me"

The first color Mordred ever sees is the icy blue of Galahad’s eyes, as the young squire introduces himself. By the way those startlingly bright eyes widen, their bond is mutual. He frowns.

“So you’re the unfortunate soul stuck with me,” he remarks.

“What do you mean?” Galahad asks. “We have a soulmate bond.”

The way he breathes the word soulmate, as if it’s something holy, makes Mordred shiver with disgust. This is just what he needs. A religious zealot who believes soulmate bonds are somehow sacred.

“Let’s get this over with. No ancient magic gone rogue means you have any sort of responsibility to me. Feel free to forget this ever happened.”

Galahad looks crushed, and Mordred almost feels guilty.

“You can’t fight God’s will,” he insists.

Mordred turns away. “Watch me.”

\--

Mordred tries to keep his distance, but Galahad won’t leave him alone. He doesn’t even seem to be doing it intentionally. He just gravitates towards him in every situation, despite Mordred’s conscious attempts to avoid him. Mordred feels Lancelot’s disapproving glare every time he rebuffs Galahad, but the man made it quite clear when Galahad arrived to court that he didn’t consider himself the young man’s father, so Mordred doesn’t see why he cares.

Then he finds out that Lancelot is fucking the queen behind Arthur’s back, and using their soulmate bond as an excuse. It all makes sense. Lancelot has convinced himself that soulmates are irresistible, that the infidelity isn’t his fault. Every time Mordred resists it, he reminds Lancelot of his own weakness.

Mordred finds bitter satisfaction in that. At least there’s one area where he’s the stronger knight.

\--

Mordred hasn’t wanted a soulmate since before his name was Mordred.

There had once been a little girl named Anna who lived in a hut by the sea. She had wanted a soulmate. Her parents had promised her she didn’t need one. After all, they weren’t soulmates, and they were happy together.

Then they had been killed, and so had Anna. In her place, Mordred was born. Mordred, who spent hours watching his Mother in her workshop as she attempted to break the magic binding her to a man she despised.

Mordred sometimes thought she would kill him, simply in hopes that destroying the evidence might be enough to break her personal curse.

In the end, she has to settle for the fact that Arthur hates their soulmate bond as much as she did.

\--

Nimue has by far the most practical approach to soulmates that Mordred has ever encountered. She says that their purpose is to bring together people who need to find each other. People who might not otherwise be together. Nothing more.

“Merlin thought it was a protective spell, to ensure the future of this land by ensuring that certain people are born, but I have my doubts,” she admits. “And even if it was, that’s no reason to be using spells to trick people into sleeping together based on some ancient spell that’s probably lost its true purpose by now.”

“So, love and soulmates have nothing to do with each other?” he ventures.

“There’s nothing wrong with not having a soulmate,” she explains, misinterpreting Mordred’s interest in the subject. “Most people don’t. Everyone likes to think that seeing the world in color is so special, but it’s only a slight difference, really. And honestly, we don’t really know how people without soulmates see the world. Maybe you see the world in color from the start. It’s only when things change that you notice.”

Mordred considers asking about her soulmate, but he realizes he already knows who it is. She strung him along, taking advantage of his belief in the importance of the soulmate bond. And then, she trapped him in a tree for eternity.

He respects her for that.

\--

Mordred doesn’t know if Arthur knows about the soulmate bond, or if he’s just noticed the tension between his two youngest knights, but he regularly assigns them to work together.

Two days out from Camelot, the young woman they’re escorting to her wedding safely asleep in her tent, Mordred finally gives up on trying to ignore Galahad’s pointed hints that, since they’re soulmates, they should get along.

“You know soulmates aren’t always happy?” he says.

“It’s God’s will,” Galahad insists. “Happiness has nothing to do with it.”

“My mother’s soulmate is her own half-brother,” Mordred counters. “Is that God’s will?”

Galahad goes terribly quiet, and Mordred feels a bitter sense of victory.

\--

Mordred leaves Camelot for two years. When he returns, Galahad is changed. No longer the naïve child, he is now a thoughtful young man, whose still-unwavering faith is tempered by the darkness of the world.

Mordred misses the old Galahad more than he’d care to admit, but he can’t deny the pull he feels towards this new personality. Galahad no longer seeks him out, but Mordred is ever more aware of starlit eyes on him.

Finally, it’s Mordred who takes the first step, seeking out Galahad on the practice field.

Galahad brightens just a bit when he sees Mordred.

“Sir Mordred,” he greets him, voice almost succeeding in neutrality.

“Sir Galahad,” Mordred returns, in a similar tone.

\--

Their first real conversation is nothing special. Same with their second, and third. The subject of soulmates is carefully avoided.

It’s another three years before Mordred pulls Galahad close and kisses him in a moment of desperate want before he leaves on the quest that will take his life.

Bitterly, Mordred wonders if the only reason for their bond was to cause him pain.


End file.
